You Actually Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners
by RainyDays-and-DayDreams
Summary: For a prompt from Lifeuniverseeverything42- "Christmas with the Watson-Holmes family". Johnlock, if it wasn't obvious, Hamish, and fluffiness. T because I'm paranoid.


**_A/N: Hey, ya'll! RainyDays-and-DayDreams here. I received this prompt a while back. While I loved the prompt, I'm not sure how great the story is. But I figured I should post it anyways. Thanks for reading, please leave a review to let me know what you thought, and enjoy! I love you all! Merry Christmas!_**

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**PROMPT: Christmas Dinner with the Watson-Holmes Family (as prompted by Lifeuniverseeverything42)**

**Let's do this, shall we?**

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"You can imagine the Christmas dinners," was one of the first things said to John Watson upon finding out Mycroft Holmes was the brother of the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

His response? "Yeah. No. God no."

He was right to say so.

However, years later, after the dynamic deducing duo had gotten married and had a child, the Christmas dinners weren't so bad. They were still interesting, to be sure- they wouldn't be the Watson-Holmes family if they weren't.

Some people assumed the dinners were horrendous- full of screams and body parts and mentions of all the various ways the dinner laid in front of them could kill every living thing on the street. A select few thought that their dinners were perfectly normal.

The truth was that their dinners actually were fairly normal. As were their Christmas days. But they were special in their own way.

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When the sun rose on Hamish's fourth Christmas, John and Sherlock Watson-Holmes were laying in bed, sleeping peacefully in each others arms.

This in itself was an unusual occurrence. Usually Sherlock was up until the wee hours of the morning experimenting, playing the violin, or exploring his mind palace, and John had taken to falling asleep on Hamish's floor because of their young son's claims that monsters hid in his wardrobe, and his refusal to fall asleep unless his Father or Papa fell asleep with him. Seeing as his Father was usually doing something involving dangerous chemicals, it usually fell to Papa to help the little one sleep.

Today was different, though. Hamish had been so excited about Santa visiting that he had completely forgotten his fear and gone to bed early. In fact, he had demanded his papa and daddy go to bed right then so Santa didn't leave them behind.

"Yeah, Father," John had said, shooting a very pointed look at Sherlock. "We both need to go to bed tonight early so Santa doesn't miss us."

Sherlock grumbled under his breath. He didn't think they should be letting Hamish believe in Santa at all, but it was what John wanted.

After Hamish had gone to bed, John and Sherlock stayed up for several more hours wrapping Santa's presents. Once they were all under the tree, John had dragged Sherlock to bed.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," John whispered, burying his face in his husband's neck. "Merry Christmas."

Sherlock smiled and wrapped his arms around his husband's torso. "Goodnight, John," he whispered.

Once he knew John was asleep, Sherlock buried his head into John's neck. "Merry Christmas," he breathed.

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Hamish woke them both up the next morning by bouncing onto their bed.

"Wake up!" he said excitedly, blond curls flying. "It's Christmas!"

Sherlock groaned , but John was up in an instant. He looked into his son's excited blue eyes and smiled.

"Did Santa leave you anything?"

"Yes! He did! But I didn't look at them like you told me to." His face was practically flowing.

John laughed. "Well, come on, then," he said. "Let's go out there and sort the presents, and then we can open them once your papa wakes up." He shot a pointed look at Sherlock, who moaned and rolled over in response.

John chuckled. "Come on, Hamish," he said, grabbing his son's hand. "Let's go."

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Later in the day, after all the presents had been opened up, Mrs. Hudson had brought her gifts, and Hamish had played with every one of his new toys (his favorite was the mini microscope Sherlock had gotten him), it was time for the Christmas dinner.

Mrs. Hudson had made most of the dinner, but John had helped prepare the main course.

As they settled in, Sherlock looked as if he were about to bolt. John grabbed his husband and looked him in the eye. "You will stay," he said, "and you will eat. For Hamish." His tone left no room for argument.

After that, everything went pretty normally.

There was an incident where Hamish flung his mashed potatoes across the room in a fit of pique because John wouldn't let him leave the table to go look at things through his microscope again. (Sherlock remained silent, but sided with Hamish.) And Sherlock may have had to leave the table to answer his brother's call. To which everyone could then hear the two having a hushed battle of wits in the other room.

Hamish giggled. "I hope Uncle My comes over," he said happily. Sherlock returned right then, fuming. John laughed. "Going by the look on your papa's face, I'd say he is." Sherlock sunk back into his chair and scowled while Hamish squealed with delight.

Sure enough, Mycroft showed up less than an hour later, just as the deserts were being served. "You planned this, didn't you?" Sherlock growled, looking at Mycroft. "You planned this so you could arrive just as the cakes were being served."

"Of course not, brother," Mycroft scoffed. "Why would I ever do such a thing? Once Hamish here has opened his gift from his uncle, I'm sure I can leave."

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Hudson cried. "I'm sure we could get your brother here some cakes."

Sherlock groaned as Mycroft smiled rather maliciously. Hamish watched the proceeding with equal parts confusion and mirth.

John just laughed.

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Later, once Sherlock had successfully chased Mycroft out of the flat, and Mrs. Hudson had retired downstairs, Hamish began playing with his toys once more while Sherlock and John sat on the couch, John's head on Sherlock's shoulder, staring at their son and the crackling fireplace.

John smiled when Hamish began to yawn. "Did you have fun today, Hamish?" he asked.

Hamish, though he was exhausted, still managed an enthusiastic "Yes!" through a yawn.

John laughed. "I think it's time for bed, Hamish," he said, smiling.

"No!" Hamish protested through another yawn.

John smiled, stood up, and picked up Hamish. "Come on," he said. "Time for bed."

"'m not tired," Hamish muttered sleepily.

"Yes you are," John chuckled. He walked upstairs, and tucked him into his bed, thankful he'd had the foresight to put him in his new pyjamas earlier. He kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, Hamish," he said. "Merry Christmas. I love you."

Hamish sleepily murmured, "Love you too, Papa."

John turned around to leave when Sherlock appeared at the the door. John quirked an eyebrow. Sherlock, as a general rule, didn't help tuck Hamish in. He showed his affection in other ways. Sherlock shook his head and featured for John to get out. John, still surprised, walked out of the room.

Sherlock walked up to Hamish's bed. "Father?" he asked.

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, Hamish."

"What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to say Merry Christmas. And I love you."

"Did Papa ask you to?" Hamish was smart. He knew his Father never did anything as emotional as that.

Sherlock sighed. "No." He paused. "But Mrs. Hudson may have asked me to."

Hamish laughed sleepily. "That's okay, Father," he said. "I know you love me."

Sherlock smiled. "Goodnight, Hamish," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Father."

He paused. "Oh, and I don't believe in Santa."

Sherlock turned around. "What?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"It doesn't make sense. What he does is impossible. I pretended for Papa, though."

Sherlock smiled. Hamish truly was his son.

"Goodnight," he whispered one more time before closing the door.

* * *

When Sherlock climbed into bed with John, John turned around to face him. "What was that about?" he asked, after placing a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock smiled. "Nothing," he whispered. "Goodnight, John."

John snuggled up to Sherlock.

"Goodnight, Sherlock. Merry Christmas."

And that Christmas for the Watson-Holmes family ended. Night fell, and all were happy.

**Fin.**

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_**A/N: I hope this fulfilled your expectations, and I hope you enjoyed it, Lifeuniverseeverything42! As well as anyone who's reading this right now. Again, Merry Christmas, and a happy new year!**_


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